The Golden Age, or The Lives of Jupiter and Saturn · chunk 10 of 36
Heywood, Thomas · published 1611 · first performed or written 1610 [1609-1611] (Annals) classical legend or myth · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
We not refuse the bounty of the Heavens Expressed in these your voices; we accept Your patronage, and 'gainst Lycaon's tyrannies Henceforth protect you: but our conquest yet Is all uncertain, second us dear subjects, To assure our conquests: first we must provide Our safety, ere attempt the helm to guide. What mean these horrid & these shrill alarms That fright the peaceful Court with hostile cries? Fear and amazement hurry through each chamber; Th'affrighted Lady's light the darkest rooms With their bright beauties: whence (o whence ye Gods) Are all you groans, cries, and inhuman sounds Of blood and death: Lycaon, where is he? Why in this dire and sad astonishment Appears not he to comfort my sad fears, And cheer me in this dull distemperature? The Iron barred doors, & the suspected vaults, The Barricadoed gates, and every room, That boasted of his strength, is forced to obey To our free entrance: nothing can withstand Our opposite fury. Come, let's ransack further, But stay, what strange dejected beauty's this That on the sudden hath surprised my heart, And made me sick with passion? Hence away, When we command, who dares presume to stay? Bright Lady. You affright me with your steel. These weapons Lady come to grace your beauty And these my arms shall be your sanctuary From all offensive danger: cheer your sorrow, Let your bright beauty shoot out of this cloud, To search my heart, as it hath dazed my eyes. Are you a Queen enthroned above the Elements, Made of divine composure, or of earth, Which I can scarce believe? I am myself. uncivil stranger, you are much to rude, Into my private chamber to intrude: Go call the King my father. Are you their Lycaon's daughter? (wonder without end, That from a Fiend an Angel should descend.) Oh Love, till now I never felt thy dart: But now her painted eye hath pierced my heart. Fair, can you love? To be alone I can. Women, fair Queen, are nothing without men: You are but ciphers, empty rooms to fill, And till men's figures come, uncounted still. Shall I sweet Lady, add unto your grace, And but for number-sake supply that place. You're one too many, and of all the rest, That bear men's figure, we can spare you best. What are you sir? We are Pelasge's King, And these our subjects. These did of late belong To King Lycaon (Oh injurious wrong) Oh suit your pity with your Angel-beauty, And live Pelasge's Queen. Give me a funeral garland to lament, That best becomes my wretched discontent. The sunshine of my smiles and jocund love, Shall from your brows bright azure Elements, Disperse all clouds: behold my crown is yours. My sword, my conquest, I am of myself, Nothing without your soft compassionate love? For proof, ask what the heaven, earth, air, or sea Can yield to men by power or orison, And it is yours. Sir, I shall prove your love. Pray use me Lady. You'll grant it me my Lord.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
We not refuse the bounty of the Heauens Exprest in these your voyces; we accept Your patronage, and' gainst Lycaons tyrannyes Henceforth protect you: but our conquest yet Is all vncertaine, second vs deere subiects, To assure our conquests: first we must prouide Our safty, ere attempt the helme to guide. What meane these horrid & these shrill alarmes That fright the peacefull Court with hostle cryes? Feare and amazement hurry through each chamber; Th'affrighted Ladies light the darkest roomes With their bright beauties: whence (ô whence ye Gods) Are all you grones, cryes, and inhumane sownds Of bloud and death: Licaon, where is he? Why in this dire and sad astonishment Appeares not he to comfort my sad feares, And cheere me in this dull distemprature? The Iron bar'd dores, & the suspected vaults, The Barricadoed gates, and euery roome, That boasted of his strength, is forc'd to obey To our free entrance: nothing can withstand Our opposite fury. Come, let's ransacke further, But stay, what strange deiected beauty's this That on the sodaine hath surpris'd my heart, And made me sicke with passion? Hence away, When we command, who dares presume to stay? Bright Lady. You afright me with your steele. These weapons Lady come to grace your beautie And these my armes shall be your sanctuary From all offensiue danger: cheere your sorrow, Let your bright beauty shoote out of this cloud, To search my heart, as it hath daz'd my eyes. Are you a Queene enthron'd aboue the Elements, Made of diuine composure, or of earth, Which I can scarce beleeue? I am my selfe. Vnciuill stranger, you are much to rude, Into my priuate chamber to intrude: Go call the King my father. Are you their Lycaons daughter? (wonder without end, That from a Fiend an Angell should descend.) Oh Loue, till now I neuer felt thy dart: But now her painted eye hath pierc'd my heart. Faire, can you loue? To be alone I can. Women, faire Queene, are nothing without men: You are but cyphers, empty roomes to fill, And till mens figures come, vncounted still. Shall I sweet Lady, adde vnto your grace, And but for number-sake supply that place. You'r one too many, and of all the rest, That beare mens figure, we can spare you best. What are you sir? We are Pelasge's King, And these our subiects. These did of late belong To King Lycaon (Oh iniurious wrong) Oh sute your pitty with your Angell-beauty, And liue Pelasge's Queene. Giue me a funerall garland to lament, That best becomes my wretched discontent. The sun-shine of my smiles and iocond loue, Shall from your browes bright azure Elements, Disperse all clouds: behold my crowne is yours. My sword, my conquest, I am of my selfe, Nothing without your soft compassionate loue? For proofe, aske what the heauen, earth, aire, or sea Can yeeld to men by power or orison, And it is yours. Sir, I shall proue your loue. Pray vse me Lady. You'l grant it me my Lord.